


No One Messes With a High Lord and His Leftovers

by librarian_of_velaris



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Brooding, F/M, Fluff, Food, Gen, Leftovers, Light Angst, Mostly Fluff, brooding rhys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-15
Updated: 2018-04-15
Packaged: 2019-04-23 00:26:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14320410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/librarian_of_velaris/pseuds/librarian_of_velaris
Summary: Feyre can't find Rhys, who's off brooding about something, somewhere. While looking for him, she discovers why he's so upset.





	No One Messes With a High Lord and His Leftovers

Feyre couldn’t find Rhys.

She’d checked everywhere. Their bedroom, the kitchen…you name it, she’d been there.

And he wasn’t answering the questions she sent down the bond, either, every  _where are you_ being met with utter silence. She had no doubt that she’d know if her mate was in danger, but if he wasn’t responding, and she couldn’t find him…she wanted to be sure. Just in case.

So she set off for the House of Wind, flying up to the balcony and praying that someone, at least, knew where she could find Rhys.

She landed on the balcony, empty save for the garden chairs and tables that Elain had requested they add to give the garden a ‘bit of flair,’ as she liked to put it. On a beautiful day like today, the sun shining, bathing the city of Velaris in streams of light, Elain could be found out here, tending to the garden of flowers and herbs, hands dirty and clothes covered in dirt. Usually, Azriel wouldn’t be far behind, his calloused hands digging in the dirt, helping Elain plant the new seeds she’d purchased. Feyre was always surprised at how eager Azriel was to garden. To get his hands dirty with Elain. But what really struck her was how  _happy_ they seemed together, planning expansions of the garden and walking to the markets together for seeds, smiling all the way. It made Feyre glow—to see her sister that content, despite all the horrors from the war she’d been made to endure. She was glad for Az, glad that her sister had found someone that made her smile.

But today, Azriel and Elain were nowhere to be seen. Nor were Cass and Rhys, who could’ve been found sparring on the spacious balcony on such a lovely day, or even sunning their wings, relaxing and enjoying the peace and quiet. Instead, Feyre was met with radio silence.

She opened the doors to the House of Wind and breathed a sigh of relief. Voices echoed through the hallway, the loud, arguing voices of the Inner Circle filling her ears. She headed straight for the kitchen, picking up bits and pieces of the quarrel as she walked.

“I didn’t touch—”

“Don’t you dare accuse me of—”

“I don’t even like food that much, so—”

In unison. “SHUT UP AMREN.”

Feyre sighed, sauntering into the dining room and taking in the scene around her. Cassian was attempting to force Az into a headlock, though his brother put up a good fight, his shadows coming to his aid and blinding the commander. Nesta and Elain could be found at the table, sitting and snickering, joining Mor in placing bets on who’d win between the two Illyrians—Feyre guessed all money was on Az, though sometimes Nesta surprised them all when they’d fight, placing a bet on her mate every so often. Lucien wasn’t even around, but she’d bet he’d heard the sounds of fighting and steered clear of the dining room, instead likely opting for a stroll along the Sidra.

And Amren…well, Amren was sitting at the table, taking in the action around her, perfectly content to watch a fight.

“Ahem.” The room went silent at Feyre’s voice, Az and Cass looking up from their fight to see their High Lady staring right back at them.

“Anyone know where I can find Rhysand?” she asked.

Cassian went pale at the mention of his brother’s name, letting go of the stranglehold he held on Azriel. “I—I don’t know.”

“ _Liar_ ,” called Nesta from her seat in the corner, “you know he’s off brooding because of you.”

“Don’t go accusing me of—”

“I don’t have time for your bickering right now. Where is Rhys?”  

Cassian sighed, brushing a hand through his hair. “Like Nes said, he’s off brooding, Cauldron knows why. Did you check the townhouse?”

“That’s where I just came from. He’s not there, and he isn’t on the balcony. Any suggestions?”

“He  _does_ like the library,” recommended Nesta. Feyre was surprised she even paid that much attention to his whereabouts. Though she supposed it made sense; Nesta was always in the library, looking for a romance novel or two, and sometimes even helped Rhys find a book to read. He’d never admit it, but he harbored a secret passion for those stories of fiery hot romance that Nesta adored.  

“Already checked.”

“The artist’s quarter?” Suggested Mor.

“Checked.”

“The roof,” Whispered Azriel. Not a suggestion, a certainty.

“Why would he be…”

“Go. You’ll find him up there.”

Feyre gave him a nod and went back to the balcony, summoning her wings and flying up to the roof of the House of Wind, where she found Rhys surrounded in darkness.

She landed in front of him, clearing the circle of darkness he’d created for himself, and slapped him right across the face.

“Don’t  _ever_ shut me out like that again,” she commanded.

“I didn’t shut you out,” he grumbled, “I just chose not to respond.”

“I don’t care how upset you are, you  _respond to me_  when I ask you where you are.”

“Okay,” he said, lowering his head, “I will.”  

“Good,” she responded, taking his head in her hands and placing a kiss on his brow, “now tell me why you’re all broody all of a sudden.”

“Cassian,” he grunted, pouting.

“What about him?”

“He’s a prick, that’s what.”

Feyre pressed further. “Did he drink all the expensive wine?”

“No, no, nothing like that,” responded Rhys, waving a hand lazily in the air, “I wouldn’t care about that. That can be replaced.”

“Destroy another building?”

He shook his head. A no, then. “Worse.”

She gave him a soft laugh, lacing her fingers through his, “I’m not sure it can get any worse than that, Rhys.”

“Oh, but it can.”

“Okay, so what is it?”

“Cassian…well, he…the stupid prick ate my leftovers from last night.”

“Leftovers?! Really, Rhys,  _that’s_ why you’re up here, brooding like there’s no tomorrow?”

“THEY WERE MINE,” he exclaimed, barely able to hold in his temper as tendrils of night spread from him, circling around the daylight like a predator to prey.

Feyre couldn’t help but laugh. Not a soft chuckle, no, but a full, booming laughter that spread and echoed across the sky, “Rhys,” she said, controlling her laughter for a second, “that’s hardly a reason to brood.”

“They. Were. Mine. And now I don’t have anything to eat.”

“You’re a High Lord with endless amounts of money; you can go  _anywhere_ for food.”

“But I wanted…” he trailed off, frowning.

Feyre rolled her eyes. It was like talking to a child who’d lost his toy, crying for hours and hours over something that wouldn’t come back. There was no winning unless she could turn back time, or get Cassian to…No.

“Is there anything Cassian can do to make it better?” Feyre cooed, rubbing his back.

“I mean…an apology would be nice,” he grumbled, the words barely intelligible through his gritted teeth.

“Let’s go.”

“Where are we—”

Feyre had never flown Rhys before. Didn’t even know if she could carry him or support his weight. The thought had never even crossed her mind. Not until now, as she swooped him up in her arms, summoned her wings again, and flew back down to the balcony.

“Wow, darling, maybe I should brood more often, if it means a free ride,” he joked as she took his hand and led him into the dining room, where Cass and Az had stopped fighting, instead eating what looked like… _Cauldron,_ thought Feyre,  _those are leftovers._

Cassian dropped his fork at the sight of Rhys, the metal making a  _thud_ against the table while he stared at Rhys, wide-eyed.

“Rhysand.”

He nodded curtly. “Cassian.”

Feyre interjected, knowing both males were too prideful to admit (or say) anything. “Cassian, don’t you have something to say to Rhys?” She asked sweetly.

“I…uh, I don’t?”

“I think you do, Cass.”

Rhys nodded in agreement.

“Uhm…I’m sorry for whatever I did?”

Rhys glared. “You  _know_ what you did.”

“Are you talking about your leftovers? I thought it was fair game.”

“They weren’t.”

“Rhys, for Cauldron’s sake, you’re a High Lord, and  _this_ is what you choose to get angry over?” Cassian looked dumbfounded.

“Nobody comes between a male and his leftovers, Cass,” said Rhys cooly.

Feyre rolled her eyes. “Cassian, just apologize already. Please. I don’t wanna have to hear his brooding for the rest of the night.”

Cassian looked at her, thinking, then turned to Rhys. “I’m sorry I ate your leftovers, brother.”

Rhys gave a bit of a smile. An acceptance. “Thank you.”

“If you’re done apologizing, we have places to be,” said Feyre, leading her mate out of the room, “see you tomorrow.”

Cassian stared down Rhys as he walked out, like a predator sniffing out his prey. “Just one last thing,” he said.

Rhys paused, turning around slowly.

“Those leftovers? They. Were. Delicious.”

Rhysand had Cassian pinned to the ground within seconds, growling.

Nesta looked towards the two males, giving a sly smile.

“I’m taking bets now, if anyone cares to join.”  


End file.
